The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1887-12-04

accused
out; and I've really had dreadful day of it.
Alan. and can't sleep on the roadside on a
night like this-at least, not with a portman-
teau." he pleaded
and,then, did you hear nothingl" he asked.
NO" said John. thrilling. he knew not why.
ing; whyf' And then, there was answer,
he reverted to his pleading: But l say, Alan,
you've just got to take me in III go right away
to bed II you nave {b 70 70
wouldn't turn you away, Alan, If you were down
On your luck"
Nor returned Alan, Neither will you,
then. Come and let's get your portmanteau."
The eabman was paid and drove off down the
long lampit hill, and the two friends stood on
the sidewalk beside the portmanteau till the last
rumble of the wheels had died in silence 1t
seemed to John as though Alan attached i'm
portance to this departure of the cab; and John,
who was in no state to crltlclSe, shared pro-
foundly III the feeling.
When the stiffness was once more perfect
Alan shouldered the portmanteau carried it in.
and shut and locked the garden door; and then.
once more, abstraction seemed to fall upon him,
and he stood with his hand on the key until
the cold began to nibble at Johns fingers.
Why are we standing herep asked John
"EhF said Alan, blankly.
why, man you don't seem YOURSELF said
the other
mo. I'm not myself" said Alan; and he sat
his hands.
John stood beside him swaying little, and
looking about him at the swaying shadows, the
fitting sparkles, and the steady stars overhead,
until the MINDLESS cold began to touch him
through his clothes on the bare skin Even in
his bemused intelligence, wonder began to
awake.
II say, let's come on to the house," he said at
last.
.'Yes, let's come ON to the house." repeated
Alan.
And he rose at once re-shouldered the port
manteau, and taking the candle in his other
hand, moved forward to the Lodge. This was
long, low building, smothered in creepers
and now, except for some chinks of light be-
tween the dining room shutters, it was plunged
in darkness and silence.
In the hall Alan lit another candle gave it to
john and opened the door of bedroom.
Here said he; 'go to bed. Don't mind me,
John. You'll be sorry for when you know"
''Wait a bit" returned John; I've got so cold
with all that standing about. Lets go into the
dining room minute just one glass to warm
me, Alan"
On the table in the hall stood glass. and a
bottle with a whisky label on tray. 1t was
plain the bottle had been just opened, for the
cork and corkscrew lay beside it.
Take that" said Alan, passing John the
whisky. and then with a certain roughness
pushed his friend into the bedroom and closed
the door behind him.
John stood amazed then he shook the bottle.
and to his further wonder, found it partly
empty Three or four glasses were gone. Alan
must have uncorked a bottle of whisky and
drank three or four glasses one after the other,
without sitting down, for there was no chair,
and that in his own cold lobby on this freezing
night! 1t fully explained his eccentricities,
John reflected sagely he mixed himself
grog. Poor Alan He was drunk; and what a
dreadful thing was drink, and what a slave to it
poor Alan was, to drink in this unsociable. I'M
comfortable fashion,! The who would drink
alone, except for health's sake-as John was
doing-was man utterly lost. He took
the grog, and felt hazer. but warmer. 1t
hard work opening his portmanteau and finding
his night things, and before he was undressed
the cold had struck home to him once more.
There's
no sense in getting i'll with all this other
trouble" And presently dreamless slumber
buried him.
When John awoke it was day. The low win
ter sun was already in the heavens but his
watch had stopped. and it was impossible to tell
the hour exactly. Ten. he guessed it, and made
haste to dress. dismal reflections crowding on
his mind. But it was less from terror than
from regret that he now suffered; and with his
regret there were mingled cutting pangss of
penitence. There had fallen upon him blow,
cruel. indeed but yet only the punishment of
old misdoing; and he had rebelled and plunged
into fresh sin The rod had been nsed to
chasten. and he had bit the Christening fingers.
His father was right John had justified him;
John no guest for decent peoples houses,
and no fit associate for decent peoples children
And had broader hint been needed, there
the case of his old friend John was no drunk
ard, though he could at times exceed; and the
picture of Houston drinking neat spirits at his
hall table struck him with something like dis
gust He hung back from meeting his old
friend. He could have wished he had not come
to him; and yet, even now, where else was he
to turn2
These musings occupied him while he dressed,
and accompanied him into the lobby of the
house. The door stood open on the garden;
doubtless Alan had stepped forth; and John did
as he supposed his friend had done. The ground
was hard as iron. the frost still rigorous; as he
brushed among the hollies, icicles iingled and
glittered in their fall; and wherever he went
volley of eager sparrows followed him. Here
were Christmas weather and Christmas morning
duly met. to the delight of children. This was
laxv
he had so long looked forward, thinking to
awake in his own bed in Randolph Crescent, rec
onciled with all men and repeating the foot
prints of his youth and here he was alone. pac-
ing the alleys of wintry garden and filed with
penitential thoughts.
And that reminded him: why was he alone7
and where was Alan? The thought of the festal
morning and the due salutations reawakened
his desire for his friend, and he began to call for
him by name AS the sound of his voice died
away, he was aware of the greatness of the 81
lence that environed him. But for the twitter.
ing of the sparrows and the crunchlng of his
own feet upon the frozen snow, the whole wind
less world of air hung over him entranced. and
the stiffness weighed upon his mind with the
horror of solitude.
Still calling at intervals, but now with mod
Grated voice, he made the hasty circuit of the
garden, and finding neither man nor trace of
man in all its evergreen coverts. turned at last
to the house. About the house the silence
seemed to deepen strangely The door, indeed.
stood open before; but the windows were stiH
bright air, there sounded abroad none of that
low step perhaps audible rather to the of
the spirit than to the ear of the fesh) by which
a house announces and betrays its human ;odg-
ers. And yet Alan must be there-Alan locked
in drunken slumbers, forgetful of the return of
the day. of the holy season, and of the friend
whom he had so coldly ceived and was now
so churlishly neglecting. Johns disgust re-
doubled at the thought; but hunger was begin
ming to grow stronger than repulsion and as
step to breakfast, if to nothing else, he must
find and arouse the sleeper.
He made the circuit of the bedroom quarters.
All. until he came to Alans chamber. were
locked from without, and bore the marks of a
prolonged disuse. But Alans was room in
commission, filed with clothes, knick knacks let
tiers, books. and the conveniences of solitary
man. The fire had been lit; but it had
long ago burned out. and the ashes were stone
cold. The bed had been made but it had not
been slept in.
Worse and worse, them Alan must have fallen
where he sat; and now sprawled brutishly, no
doubt upon the dining room floor.
The dining room was very long apartment,